Plans of Confusion
by TheManiacOnWheels
Summary: Set around Tall Plains in ANB with a few changes...


"Well?" Cynder looked expectantly at the quivering unit leader, noting with disapproval his shy, frightened manner. A commander should never fear anything but defeat…Or, she mused, punishment for defeat. But then again, she inspired this nauseous fear in every living creature she encountered. It was more than simple dragon fear, for she was well known for a murderous, tyrannical beast, undefeated by all.

"The…the troops have located the dragon the Plains, ma'am."

She almost laughed out loud. The title 'ma'am' never ceased to amuse her, despite being addressed her whole life that way.

"And?" she asked.

"We are setting up a scout. The local tribesmen were no obstacle…" he trailed off at the militant gleam in her eyes.

"Ignore the Atlawa!" she growled, "just find that runt and keep him well away from the Ice Guardian…At least until he has served his purpose. After that I don't give a whit about it."

The unit leader seemed to shrink before her, the burly ragged shoulders hunching. Though he was a fair enough commander, he lacked the intelligence to properly initiate certain procedures.

_Procedures that I need put into place_, Cynder thought, troubled. The little dragon was beginning to become a threat to her plans but he _shouldn't _be.

The unit leader said tentatively, "Ma'am, if it's not too impertinent of me to ask, is it not easier to just destroy the…the problem?" He shifted uneasily under her sharp glare.

"No. That is not necessary."

She was not going to rush into killing the child…he could yet prove valuable. Cynder was certain that he knew the whereabouts of the last Guardian. She doubted that he would be haring off around the continent for sight seeing. The places he had appeared at were too precise, so she concluded that he was under orders from another being, namely the fire dragon. Rather foolish of him, she thought, relying on a hatchling.

After a moment, she said to the shifting unit leader "Set up a guard around the shrine. If the dragon comes, keep him occupied. He must _not _be allowed to interfere."

With that, she dismissed the all-too-eager-to-be-gone soldier, sighing. He was inadequate for her purposes, but she could not send a replacement. It would be several days before they arrived, and the guard was needed now.

'_That was foolish.'_

She stiffened at the faint, menacing voice of her master, distant as it was over the different realms that they abided in, not really expecting a rebuke so soon.

Quietly, she asked, _'the child, is he a threat?'_

The voice took a moment to answer, and when it came, she felt a sinking feeling, as it confirmed what she had already known. _'Yes. His interferences are not to be tolerated.'_

'_Am I to kill him, Master?'_

'…_Not you. Me. After the Ritual is performed. He is to play a valuable part in that.'_

That confused her. _'What is there for him to do?'_

'_I need his _katra_.'_

The short, blunt answer only perplexed her more, but she decided not to ask any further. She would find out one way or another.

'_What are your orders?' _she asked.

The entity emanated a thoughtful air, _'Bait him. Use him to get what you need.'_

Cynder gave an affirmative, and the presence vanished as though it had never been. Still deeply troubled, she turned and gazed out at the desolate crystalline labyrinth, unfazed by the utter despair that possessed prisoners or slaves that came to her fortress. Never before had her orders been unclear, or been doubted, but she felt the swelling of doubt in her chest a clearly as any physical wound. It was not her place to demand of her superior his plans, yet she was concerned. What was the _katra _he had mentioned? She ought to know, yet…a grim amusement touched her. She had not been so full of questions since hatchlinghood. But she had never come across the term before, and it frightened her, an emotion she could hardly be less used to.

The Plains in which the Ice Guardian was immured by chains was a practical place to hold an accomplished 'master of the element'. It was so high and isolated that there was never really any disturbance, partly what made it so beloved by the territorial natives that lived there. And ground lurkers found the air far too thin for their liking, so they could be no trouble.

The Guardian held in the Forge was not very well protected either, she thought with an irritated snort. The purple one was sure to go there next.

Her inner disquiet was so blatantly obvious that even the least skillful reader of facial expressions would have noticed it. And she was usually adept at hiding her feelings. Unless, of course, she wished others to see.

She shook her head briefly, then crossed outside to the port where an elevator, used by Commanders when they wished to report, was just sinking on its rusty iron hinges to the ground. That would be that pitiful excuse for a troop leader returning, she thought idly.

Spreading her great pinions, the hundreds of thin pulsing veins indistinguishable from the crimson membrane, she perched on the edge, raised her wings, then swept them down mightily, leaping aloft with agility belying her huge size. With swift wing beats, she soon became all but invisible against the dark sky, her lithe shape silhouetted only when lightning flashed.

--

"Can we rest _now_?" Sparx's loud complaint was so pathetic that Spyro almost laughed at him. The dragonfly had been moaning about the excessive heat that purged the Plains for hours, and had taken to glaring pointedly at his adopted brother when he wasn't.

Strange, the heat didn't bother Spyro; it made him feel energetic, making his blood boil with molten fire. Dragons didn't sweat exactly, but he _did _feel a little sticky. He had to refrain from leaping into the air to expend at least some of the pent up energy. But, as Ignitus had warned him, there were sure to be sentries of some sort watching out for him, so he stayed on the ground.

The Plains were unexpectedly boring. There was little here to play around with, not like in the swamps, and the climate and land was so drastically different from Dante's Freezer that he didn't even _try _to compare them.

Spyro spread his wings taut, the translucent light tan membrane appearing to be stretched far too thin in the sunlight. He absently flapped them, fighting the urge to take off. And deciding that having them spread would only make it harder, he tucked them firmly against his back.

He surveyed his surroundings interestedly, though there wasn't much to look at except the towers of angry face carvings. The sky was a pane of endless blue, no clouds obstructing his careless eyes. The trees were tall and thin, and fairly scarce in this section.

Blinking, he said with fascination, "It's so…bright. I've never seen the sky like this before!"

Sparx made a snide remark on that.

With a weary sigh, Spyro reluctantly said, "Okay, fine. You win. We'll rest."

"Finally. Took you a while O mauve one."

Spyro ignored him and headed to a small clump of trees and lay down in the shade, the grass almost tickling wider bronze scales of his chest and stomach when they first brushed them. He blew out a puff of grey smoke out his nostrils, which was a habit of all hatchlings, so Ignitus had told him. Sparx gave a relieved sigh and leaned against his dragon brother peacefully.

Within a matter of minutes he was asleep. Spyro had difficulty keeping his eyes open too. Either he was more tired than he'd though or lying down in extreme heat had a soporific effect on dragons as well as dragonflies.

He shook his head like a dog, trying to dispel the drowsiness. Twisting his head around, he nosed the golden dragonfly sleeping against his side, trying to wake him, "Sparx? Sparx wake up."

But the enticing thought of sleep was too compelling, and he slowly put his head down and dozed off, not noticing the camouflaged furred people emerging from hiding places around him.

--

Spyro cursed angrily, something totally unexpected from a child that was not quite twelve years of age, wishing he'd never let Sparx talk him into resting. _Why _did a place that was so high up have to be so hot?

His tail thrashed wildly, and he fought the bonds that tied his feet together. This was wrong, terribly wrong. Another thing that was wrong was that he was hanging upside down from an Ancestors-be-damned bamboo branch. And it was moving. Sparx hovered nervously next to him. His captors had obviously not seen fit to tie him up. "Spyro?" he asked, the tenseness evaporating now that the dragon was awake.

"What?"

Sparx paused, caught off guard by the coolness in his brother's tone. Deciding to take his silence as an advantage, Spyro twisted his neck and head up and whispered, "Where are we going?"

"Dunno. Ask them," Sparx said, indicating the taciturn stick bearers.

"Are you crazy?" Spyro hissed back at him, "They won't listen to me."

Sparx shrugged, "It's worth a try."

Spyro made no answer to that, and winced when the captors made a misstep and he was bounced in a painfully jarring way. When he cried angrily out at them, the rear bearer reached forward and rapped him sharply with a garishly decorated wooden spear. He fell silent after that, and took to glaring at the hunched back of the creature in front of him; occasionally snapping at it if he swung close enough.

Eventually, they came to a stop, and the segmented branch was dropped with relief on the bearers' part. Spyro however, was not untied. Trembling with outrage at this maneuver, he glared sullenly at his captors, at the tall, muscular figure which approached him. He had an obvious air of authority about him, and from the way the others stared at him, the dragon deduced that he was the leader.

"Are you with them, dragon?" he demanded harshly.

Spyro, his anger draining in a moment, realized that they were implying that they thought he was with Cynder's forces. "No," he assured him, "I'm not. Sparx," he suddenly whispered to his foster brother, "what was the name of the tribe Ignitus mentioned?"

"Can't remember," He replied in the same tone, "Atlo-outlaw-atlas…Atlawa! It was Atlawa!"

Spyro gave a quick glance of thanks then returned his attention to the tribal leader before him.

"Then why have you come? How can we trust you?"

Spyro was about to ask why _he _should trust _them_ when they'd kidnapped him in such a fashion, but held his tongue. The Atlawa leader was suspicious. Instead, he said, "We came to free another dragon. He's being held prisoner somewhere around these parts. Do you know of him?"

The nervous startled glances that were exchanged by the surrounding Atlawa were sufficient to answer his question.

"We do not go there," The leader said flatly, "Our Shrine was overcome by the Apes some time ago. None of our kind that remains above ground dare set foot there; that _fiend _whom I shall not call a dragon keeps a vigil on every tower." This was met with a rugged growl of agreement from observers.

Spyro mulled this over. It fit with the information that Ignitus had imparted to him, so he asked, "Can you show me how to get there?"

The Atlawa leader glared at him, and said, "I don't wish to see what they've done to it. The Shrine was intended as a place of peace and tranquility, to commune with our Gods, our _life! _Not as a run-me-down prison hold. Which is what its purpose now is, I understand."

His sparse white and brown streaked fur bristled with the indignation and outrage of the incident, and he continuously slapped a wooden instrument- weapon or something else Spyro couldn't tell- lightly against his thigh. The femur bone looked taut and leathery, rather like a thick deformity of a dragon's wings, and probably used to such treatment. The parts of the Atlawa's face and legs that did not have fur had the appearance of being crudely chiseled by a crafter that was not a professional in his work; the skin was grey and lined with a lifetime of living in harsh heat and sun, albeit that the tribe was self sufficient enough to survive that easily.

Spyro contented himself by answering, "I don't know, but I have to help Cyril. That's the dragon's name," he added after a pause.

The Atlawa scoffed and said scornfully, "We do not help outsiders. And I, Kane, will never bend the customs, nor sanction any such disobedience form my tribe," and he glowered around at his fellows to be sure of it, before turning away, "you will stay here the night, then you must leave. And besides, you'd never make it alone…" He gestured to a pair of observing Atlawa to show Spyro away, but before the little dragon could protest, Sparx cried out in his obnoxiously loud way, "Hey, that ain't no way to treat someone who's been battling freakin' _gorillas with swords and cannons_! We've done a whole lot more in a couple of weeks than you probably have in your whole stinkin' life. Show a little courtesy!"

The silence that followed was tense and immediate, like a prelude to a battle. Even the wind- what little there was- seemed to be holding its breath. Kane turned back around to face them, movements' slow and deliberate, eyes blazing with a cold anger. The glade seemed filled with a sudden awkward atmosphere, as the insulted Atlawa said in a low, rage filled voice, "How _dare_ you mock the courage of our people, when we have suffered all that has happened to our home? How dare you speak with such insolence to a superior-"

Sparx exclaimed with equal outrage that the Atlawa had kidnapped them, and that was just as outrageous, and added that Kane was in no way a superior except to a…And Spyro interrupted him there. "I can take them on," he challenged, "I can fight Cynder's soldiers." His eyes were gleaming fiercely, "I'm just trying to help, and you had no right to capture us like you did. I want to free the Shrine, _and _free Cyril. If you can't accept that, than I'll just go and help Cyril anyway whether you want me to or not. It's what I came here to do." He straightened defiantly, hoping that Sparx would keep silent this time.

He did.

Kane stared at the dragon as though he'd never seen him before, but his manner was no less repelling.

After a long silence, he said, "You speak with meaning and wisdom well beyond your years, dragon. I can recognize your intentions. But Atlawa are self supporting. We don't need your help." He shrugged needlessly, "Go to the Shrine if you must, and see what they have done to it, but I will clear out those scum myself. Understand?" His voice became perceptively louder.

Spyro accepted if only to continue on his way, answering with quiet dignity, "I'm going, and maybe someday you'll learn that _two_ heads are better than one…even if they're pinheads," he shot a quick grin at Sparx, then promptly walked out of the glade, spreading his wings in the warm night air.

Once aloft, he reveled in heated air currents, gliding effortlessly over the jagged yellow-tan cliffs. The energy that that had bothered him earlier was no less than before the little 'nap' he'd been coerced into before, and he dove to take advantages of the fun, tumultuous billows of heat.

Sparx however was dissatisfied, and continued to rant long after they'd left the glade and Atlawa behind.

"'Insolent? Inferior?' _Idiots!_" he fumed, ignoring Spyro's attempts at placating him. The dragon was just as insulted by Kane's attitude, but hatred and resentment simply was not in his nature, so he chose to forget about it. The whole ordeal had been ridiculous, just as Sparx's outburst, however rude, had been righteous anger; if Kane didn't want to accept help when it came, no matter how young or unfamiliar, Spyro wasn't going to push him. Ancestors only knew he had enough enemies to keep his thoroughly bruised paws occupied already.

But he did wonder how much trouble the Apes had been giving the tribe, whom he had got the impression from Ignitus, were peaceful, that they would suddenly become so bitter.

"Spyro, are you listenin' to me? We should go back and kick their furry…" Sparx broke off stared at his brother in confusion, for Spyro had come to an abrupt halt in the air, rotating his wings back in his usual hovering pose. Sparx again tried to speak to him, but Spyro hushed him, staring down at a cluster of lights below them.

The darkness providing cover, he slowly dipped down and glided closer to the ground, keeping a certain gap between himself and the encampment, to land on a little ridge where he could hear the discussion of the soldiers at a relatively safe distance, and fixed his eyes on the shadowed figures crowded around the main fire.

"…Her orders have arrived. We're to keep all interferences from the dragon until she's done with im'. And keep watch for the r…"

He strained his ears, tensing. But he heard no further because Sparx was tugging at his right wing and muttering, "I don't like the looks of this. We're too close to the freaky baboon-things."

Backing away, Spyro unconsciously motioned for him to be silent, receding into the shadows so he could take off unnoticed.

The sharp crack of a twig beneath his feet told him that this wasn't the way things were going to proceed. The Ape who had been informing his troops of their orders whirled around, wicked tiny eyes darting everywhere, seeking out the source of the noise. With a grunt he ordered out the others to search the surrounding areas, and Spyro knew at one glance at the crude ballista mounted near the fire that unless he took off now, he would never get away without a skirmish.

He crouched very low to the ground, wishing that dragons' eyes were as well accustomed for night vision as an Ape's or Swamp beetles. He could easily stumble into one of the beings he was trying to escape.

This, ironically, was exactly what he did. In his slow paced retreat, Spyro was not watching behind him for the shapes of sentries or night beasts, and unfortunately stepped right into a ground based nest of some kind of Plain fowl, which upon sighting him, began to screech and flutter her speckled glossy wings, pecking at the bewildered little dragon with an unusual savagery.

He leapt out with an unintentional yelp, twisting around to face the infuriated bird with wide eyes. His short blunt snout was assaulted by a barrage of fierce needle like pecks, the hen persistent on driving him from her not-very-subtly concealed eggs, keeping up a howl as she went. Spyro, as was the reaction of all young things when in pain, squalled in equal outrage, but the more compassionate side of him saying frantically not to attack the bird that was, after all, only defending her nest.

The bird's angry screeches were soon joined by triumphant hoots of the Apes, which had formed a tight circle around the bird and the dragon while both were distracted.

The lead Ape said in a loud voice, "Remember your orders," upon which the others converged.

The bird began to shriek in fear as well as fury now, and Spyro, disdaining with crouching, fumed at his reaction.

_Stupid, I shouldn't've done that! Am I going blind? _His brain demanded of him, and he wondered vaguely if he was going mad as well as blind.

As he reared on his stout hind legs, the little dragon spread his wings and raised his forepaws in front of his chest defensively, a challenging gleam in his violet eyes. The Ape leader responded with a mocking laugh, and set a minion upon him, to be repelled by a surprisingly strong head-butt, as the dragon swiftly swung his head around to knock away the attacker, which howled as a flash of white talon scraped his nose (that was the swipe of his claws as an after-attack) and stepped back, clutching his bleeding nostrils.

Spyro decided to engorge its humiliation by uttering a shrill whistling taunt that only a dragon could make, and raised his hackles, the foremost of the membranous spines on his head stretching in a way he had previously only done in a threatening situation. Now he applied it for a different use.

The other Apes, which had stopped and stared at their comrade, cackled in glee. They had no personal warmth for each other, and any pain was laughable to them.

Spyro found that repugnant, and his amusement at the fallen Ape's embarrassment came to an abruptly cold end. Growling, he arched his neck and let out a rush of flame into their midst, disposing of the already injured one in the process.

They screamed, their dusty grey fur aflame and instinctively rolled on the ground to douse the flames. A pointless endeavor, for even at night the Plains were thickly hot, and the grass would only catch fire. And he stiffened. A fire in the Plains would be deadly…and he gasped in horror as a thin stream of gold streaked across the night, the pace incredible even for flame.

Sparx groaned and cried at him to get out of the place, and with his anger decently cooled, Spyro recognized the danger, and crouched, wings tense with preflight tautness. He glanced behind him as a thin wail filled the air, and saw the bird flapping desperately at the night air, and realized that she was flightless, and had no immediate or safe way to escape. And nor did her eggs.

Indecision stayed him. This bird had not deliberately caused the fire, so no amount of blame should go to her. It would be of the most redundant things to do to leave her and her eggs to die while he could help it.

Slowly, Spyro approached her, and hesitated as she turned cold, black eyes to him, and opened her beak to screech at him warningly. He reared back again, and suddenly darted forward and snapped his jaws around her body, which was not much smaller than his own. She writhed, cawing fearfully; head bobbing up and down frantically. The screams were taking on a hysterical tinge now.

Spyro tried to ignored it and the urge to clench his teeth on the bird's fragile build, which would effectively crush her, and gently, awkwardly, seized the rim of the intricately interwoven twig nest, raising his wings, getting a better grip on the nest, and waddled clumsily forward on two legs, then plunged his wings down, sails filling up with wind as he leapt up, feeling much lighter in the air, if not as balanced. With careful flaps of his wings, he spiraled up on the warm wafts of air and was slightly tossed around by the stronger currents accompanying the growing grass fire, trying his best to remain steady as though not to frighten the bird to death or accidentally tip the nest and send the eggs plunging the ground.

Sparx had been remarkably silent throughout the ordeal, and now he watched his adopted brother with a brooding eye, the golden glow he emitted an unwitting beacon to any unfriendly observers.

The reserved expression on his face made Spyro think he would have a few things to say when they were safely out of the Ape's putrid reach.

Sighting a little outcrop ahead, the young dragon adjusted his wings in the proper fashion that Ignitus had shown him to do when beginning a landing dive, and swept slowly downwards, cutting through the channels of wind in his wake. With slow, careful strokes, Spyro dispensed with back winging for fear of harming his unwilling 'passengers' and simply glided down to the dark tussock-like ridge.

The moment she was released from his jaws, the bird, which had quieted as he'd flown, began to howl again, shivering, her speckled feathers lying flat against her body, making her appear much slimmer than before.

Hastily, Spyro set the nest down and backed away, locking his gaze with the bird's to try and ease her fear- a difficult feat for him- and promptly sat down, unblinking.

After several minutes, the screeching dwindled down to a faint twittering keen, and the bird hopped warily over to her nest, examining the eggs to make sure they had taken no chill.

Apparently satisfied with their condition, she half unfurled her stubby wings and stepped gently over them, puffing up her downy feathers to better cover the eggs, and spread her wings to serve as wind break (though why she would need to worry about the wind in a place like this was beyond his thinking capacity).

Spyro sighed, then turned around, loath to fly again, but knowing it would be a better reassurance to the bird to leave than if he stayed around, he in turn unfolded his wings and took off, a grumbling Sparx trailing after him.


End file.
